


Whiskey and Wine

by Redisaid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ashe honestly was just being nice and giving advice, But fuck it she'll take a little romp too, F/F, Hotel Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Ouihaw, Sometimes you buy a girl a drink or three then fuck her and it's no big deal, that's the ship name, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 13:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16598981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redisaid/pseuds/Redisaid
Summary: Widowmaker is thinking about going on the run. No one will miss her, out here in the desert. But she's having second thoughts. At least she was, until a certain cowgirl came along and convinced her to take a little risk.





	Whiskey and Wine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dinochoobs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinochoobs/gifts).



The bar had been blissfully quiet only moments before. It had just been her and the aging omnic bartender, who didn’t seem to know what to do when she ordered a glass of wine.

But now that was a thing of the past. A dozen or so figures were rolling in from the door, taking their places at dimly lit tables and in back corners. They continued on with their conversations, voices going soft as they noticed her, but not stopping all the same. Regulars, clearly. Now she was the odd man out.

The hush of their conversation became a drone, and finally was accompanied by the strange twang of what she had to guess was American country music as a jukebox in one corner of the bar roared to life. It splattered the bartop with a neon green hue, which also reflected into her nearly empty wine glass, tracing odd circles of color around its rim. Just as Widowmaker was admiring how disgusting the glow made her beverage look, one of the figures blocked it.

A woman hovered close to her. Too close, even. Enough that she could smell the dust on her, and the sweetness of the whiskey that the bartender was pouring into the tumbler she held. 

Widowmaker tried to keep her eyes down. She wanted nothing to do with whatever company was about to be forced on her. She had come here to drink alone. If she couldn’t do that anymore, then it was time to leave. She started planning her exit.

But the woman leaned closer. Close enough to allow that green light to catch off the shine of her deep red lipstick. Close enough to let Widowmaker see it outline her little smirk as she asked her, “Why so blue, darlin’?”

She expected a round of laughter to follow from the rest of the crowd, but they all seemed intent on keeping their attention away from what was going on at the bar. Clearly, this woman ran the show, and her business was none of theirs. So it was probably foolish to get angry, or to try to explain. Best to play along. 

Widowmaker reached down into her cold passivity that was both familiar and unnerving and replied, “If you think that’s the first time I’ve heard that one, then you are mistaken.”

She turned her gaze to the woman, finally, taking in a strange, but beautiful face. Pale skin, stark white hair, and red eyes. The stranger’s coloring was nearly as odd as her own.

“Well, well,” the woman went on, intrigue pitching her voice up a few notes. It’s own twang matched with that of the music playing in the background. “That ain’t an accent I hear often in these parts. What’s a pretty Parisian lady like yourself doing out here?”

“Trying to drink alone,” Widowmaker told her, in all honesty. She took a sip of her wine for emphasis.

“Well that’s no good. I can tell you from experience that drinking alone ain’t healthy. I guess I’ll just have to keep your company. For your health, of course,” the woman insisted. She took a seat at the stool next to her. 

Before Widowmaker could sigh out her annoyance, the woman clinked her tumbler against her wine glass, offering a toast. “To whatever or whoever is making you want to drink alone.” She held out her glass of whiskey, waiting.

Well, it was too late to make the quiet exit she was planning now. Widowmaker raised her glass and followed suit as the stranger took a long drink from hers. Both whiskey and wine were gone when they finished. 

“The name’s Ashe,” the stranger introduced herself. 

“Danielle,” Widowmaker replied, using her latest alias.

She took a moment to study this Ashe. Everything about her spoke of an image trying to be portrayed. Widowmaker didn’t know the pieces of western wear well enough to call them by their correct names, but she knew that the black leather that adorned most of Ashe’s body was of impeccable quality. She knew the gold accents and crisp white shirt beneath it all were also of no minor expense. And of course, she noticed the gun. A rifle also in black and gold, also incredibly well-crafted, holstered on her hip. Just enough of it was showing for Widowmaker to catch a glimpse of the symbol of the Deadlock Rebels on the stock. 

Ah, so that’s what this was. She knew of them, and had been warned about their presence in this area. A criminal gang. Outlaws.

She had dealt with worse.

Widowmaker looked severely unadorned by comparison, in just a pair of tight black jeans and a grey button up. She didn’t even have a pair of cowboy boots to her name, and she missed her own rifle keenly. A twinge of regret shot through her as she remembered her decision to leave it back in her motel room.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Danielle. How about you let me buy you another drink, and you can either drink it while you tolerate me quietly, or tell me whatever you feel like telling me,” Ashe offered, gesturing toward her empty glass.

Perhaps there was no need to worry about her gun. Widowmaker nodded her consent. 

Ashe flashed her a smile and ordered, “Another whiskey for me, and another glass of whatever she’s having for her. Oh, and a round for the boys. Something mellow to keep ‘em quiet. I’ll let you pick, Pete.”

The omnic bartender chirped a digital sound of affirmation and went to work pouring the drinks. He diligently filled Ashe’s glass first, then Widowmaker’s, and then dug beneath the bar for bottles of beer, which he started opening and stacking onto a tray to deliver to the rest of the patrons.

“Thank you,” Widowmaker said as she took a small sip of the wine. It wasn’t very good, no doubt some Napa Valley trash. But she couldn’t afford to be picky about wine, nor did this dive have enough of a selection for her to do so. It would do.

“Much obliged,” Ashe responded. She didn’t take a drink herself, but gently swirled the amber-colored spirit around in her own glass instead.

They sat in silence for a while. Or, well, relative silence. The music droned on. Widowmaker didn’t particularly like it, but didn’t hate it enough to complain. The mixture of men and omnics around them carried on with their hushed conversations. Widowmaker counted a dozen of them, and at least one gun on each of their hips. Try as she might, she could not wrestle her mind away from those habits. It was enough to keep herself grounded in her own thoughts. She could let that bit of caution slide. It had done well by her so far.

Finally, half-way into that second glass of wine, she spoke up. She owed this woman at least a brief conversation. Even if the wine was bad and the music strange, she had to agree that this was better than drinking alone. “I have to make a decision. It’s not an easy one. I know what I want to decide, but the consequences are…” she struggled for an English word for a moment, “...drastic.” Yes, that was a good one.

Ashe stopped swirling the whiskey in her glass long enough to take a small sip. “Ain’t that always the way,” she sympathized, breathing out the sting of the alcohol. “Coming to an answer is always easy, but the safe answer is never what you really want, is it?”

“It sounds like you’ve had to make some hard decisions yourself,” Widowmaker responded.

“I do every day,” Ashe said with a knowing little chuckle. “But that’s just how it is out here. Still, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Making hard decisions means that you have something worth deciding over. Even if you choose wrong, you get to own your choice. That’s something, isn’t it?”

It was. It was exactly why she hovered on the edge of this decision. She still had everything back in her rooms--her comms device, her gear, her phone. She could just get back online again and say that she had to lay low for a bit. She could await the next order, kill the next target Talon had for her. Or she could leave it all behind. She could throw everything that Talon had given her off into one of these canyons and run. She could choose for herself instead.

And god, did she want to.

Widowmaker found the words just pouring out of her mouth. Something about this woman, her steady presence, insistent but calm, just made it easy for her to talk. “That’s just it, taking responsibility for the pain you might put yourself through. It’s easier to have that be someone else’s fault.”

“Easy, sure,” Ashe said, taking another sip. She put down the glass, taking off her hat as well, and laid them aside before continuing. “That’s how most people choose to live their lives for a reason--because it’s so damn easy.”

“Clearly you don’t relish the easy life yourself,” Widowmaker observed, trying to dam the flow of her thoughts to her mouth by getting Ashe to talk instead. She’d already said too much.

“I’ve had every opportunity to make things easy on myself, but that ain’t worth anything if you’re not free. If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that easy is never free,” Ashe told her. 

“I know,” Widowmaker replied. 

They sat in a mixture of comfortable silence and brief conversations for one more glass, then two. Ashe didn’t even have to order them. Old Pete just refilled them each time they were empty. He kept the beer flowing for the other outlaws as well. 

It wasn’t what she wanted, or what she came to this dive for, but Widowmaker found herself feeling more comfortable here, trading idle chatter and listening to the drawl of Ashe’s voice. She didn’t falter or get weird, even with nearly four glasses of whiskey in her. She stayed close, but kept her distance at the same time. She offered wisdom, but laughed easy. She was just...easy to be around. 

It made Widowmaker question what about her wasn’t free, yet at the same time, Ashe didn’t seem put out by talking to her. She didn’t ask anything personal. She didn’t pry more into the decision that faced her. 

It was almost as if she had done this before, and would do it again. Widowmaker doubted she was the first odd-looking stranger Ashe had chatted up in a dive bar. After all, that was probably a very good way to recruit for an outlaw gang. It made sense.

But was it even that nefarious? Maybe Ashe just wanted to talk today. Maybe found her interesting, and not strange. Maybe it was okay for her to want all that. Maybe she hoped for it.

“If I were to forego that easy life we talked about before,” Widowmaker started, stirring their conversation from a period of silence again. “Where would you suggest I start?”

“Baby steps, darlin’,” Ashe replied. “Make a small decision first, something you normally wouldn’t do. Take a risk, maybe. Just a little one.”

Pete went to refill her glass, but Ashe stopped him with a wave of her hand. 

Widowmaker found herself with an unfamiliar pang in her gut as she watched that subtle gesture. Did that mean this was over? How long had it been? What time was it? Why didn’t she want this to end? 

“A small risk,” she breathed, thinking.

“You know, cheat at cards, go skinny dipping, something like that” Ashe offered.

That wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. Widowmaker turned, checking to see if any of the other outlaws were watching them. Any who were previously side-eyeing them had since lost interest, and were back to focusing on their own conversations. 

“I think I have something in mind,” she said as she turned back to Ashe, a smile curving her lips. It felt strange, as one might expect when those muscles hadn’t been used in such a way for years. Strange, but good.

“Glad to hear it,” Ashe replied, returning the smile.

Widowmaker leaned toward her, close enough to smell the dust on her again, but this time mixed with whiskey, and a hint of expensive perfume. “Would you like to know what that is?”

Ashe briefly quirked an eyebrow, but her expression soon settled into a confident smirk. “Why do I get the feeling you’re gonna show me?”

“Good guess,” Widowmaker complimented her. She leaned in just enough to briefly brush her lips against Ashe’s ear as she whispered. “I’m in room 3 at the motel across the street. Follow me back there and I’ll show you.”

“Well now,” Ashe intoned as she slipped away, looking interested. “Pete, I hope you don’t mind if I settle my tab tomorrow.” She grabbed her hat and nodded at the omnic.

The bartender chimed in with a sort of mechanical sigh, but waved her away all the same. 

Widowmaker made for the door before she could change her mind. Ashe was right, though. It felt good to make bad decisions. She kept walking, determined to hit the door of her motel room as fast as possible. 

A large omnic stood outside of the door, leaning against the outside of the bar. Keeping watch, probably. Widowmaker didn’t pay him any mind, but she heard Ashe give him an order as she tried to scramble after her with some shred of dignity, “B.O.B., keep the rounds coming for the boys. They can keep themselves entertained. Tell ‘em I have business to attend to.”

She crossed the street quickly. The town was nearly abandoned. No need to worry about dodging cars. The only ones in sight were the hovercycles of the outlaws that were parked at the bar. 

Ashe caught up with her as she stuck her key into the door. 

“Business?” Widowmaker asked her as she fumbled with the old fashioned lock.

Ashe didn’t provide a retort right away, but instead brushed her hand aside and made quick work of the lock. “My business,” she said simply as the door swung open. She held it open, and gestured for Widowmaker to go ahead. 

The room was nothing to write home about. It was mostly clean, but everything within it spoke of its age. Even the tacky southwestern designs on the bedspread had mostly faded, leaving an odd suggestion of sunset-colored chevrons instead. The blinds were closed, and the air conditioner unit hummed far too loudly. It was just dark enough to hide the piles of gear in the corner, and the case that held her own rifle. Well, almost dark enough.

Luckily, Ashe’s eyes didn’t go searching. They stayed fixed on her, waiting.

As the door shut behind her, Widowmaker decided that waiting was not on the table tonight. She moved in, capturing Ashe’s red lips with her own, tipping that damn hat up and out of the way as she did. She tasted like whiskey and lipstick and warmth. 

Ashe was more than ready for this, despite the rush. She caught her hat before it could fall to the ground, deftly setting it on a nightstand as she pulled Widowmaker with her. She somehow managed to undo the holster for her rifle one handed as well, and laid that up against the same nightstand. Her lips rarely left hers, pausing only briefly to allow her to ask, “You sure this is the decision you want to make today?”

“You’ve been very convincing so far,” Widowmaker told her. “So yes, it is.”

“All right then,” Ashe drawled against her neck.

She was somehow both gentle and rough--somehow exactly what Widowmaker wanted her to be. Ashe peppered her with kisses, sometimes with just soft traces of her even softer lips, other times hot and hard and wet. Her hands roamed respectfully, testing boundaries. They moved from hip to ribs, waiting for resistance before dragging down across her abdomen and down along the waistband of her jeans before moving to unbutton her shirt from the bottom up.

“That’s hardly fair,” Widowmaker told her, but didn’t move to stop her. “I don’t know how to take off anything you’re wearing.”

“Don’t you worry about me, sugar,” Ashe replied as she popped the second button from the bottom. 

“What if I want to?” she asked, taking a moment to run her fingers through that stark white hair. 

“Plenty of time for that later,” Ashe assured her, making quick work of the rest of the buttons. As she did over her clothes, Ashe began cautiously under them, running her fingers over skin with the lightest touch at first, then firmer. “You run cold,” she noted as her hands continued to travel upward.

Not wanting to acknowledge that, Widowmaker captured Ashe’s mouth again to silence her. She guided her hands further upward, trying to tell her that she could do what she wanted. They had gone this far now. There was no need for caution.

Ashe finally got the hint and tipped her down onto the bed, ridding her of her shirt in the process. The cool color of Widowmaker’s skin somehow blended in with the faded sunset beneath her. In this little light, they were almost one in the same. 

“So what do you like?” Ashe asked as she slid up along her frame. Somehow, she’d lost her vest in the process as well. 

“Whatever you want to do to me,” Widowmaker rasped.

“You sure about that? You don’t know me. I could be into some real shit,” Ashe warned her, even as she moved to slip her hands around her and back to the clasp of her bra. 

Widowmaker found those red eyes, making sure they made contact with her own golden ones. “I know you are a woman who will buy a stranger a drink and try to give her advice. I know that you are content not to ask me anything you don’t think that I will answer. I think I can trust you enough to take care of me otherwise.”

Ashe responded only with a little chuckle and a big smirk. She deftly undid the clasp of Widowmaker’s bra, tracing her calloused fingers down her spine and around over her hip bones. The leather of her gloves was nearly as smooth as her skin, and by now just as warm, but she made no move to remove them. They were fingerless, after all.

“All right then,” she said as she finally tugged at the waistband of Widowmaker’s jeans. “Suit yourself.”

Ashe shimmied them off in record time, not even taking much time to admire what lay beneath. 

Widowmaker was convinced she could somehow sense the urgency of all of this. She needed her now. She needed to feel something, anything, other than the ache of her own emptiness and the looming fear of her own future. That had been what she was trying to achieve with the wine anyway, but this--this was so much better already. All she wanted was more.

So much so that she whined when Ashe came up to kiss her again. A soft kiss. Too soft. 

Ashe hummed, seeming to understand. She went to nip at her jawline instead. “I take it you ain’t used to being made to wait.”

“Just touch me,” Widowmaker found herself pleading. Her voice had a raw edge to it that almost sounded alien to her. Anything other than an emotionless drone or a haughty laugh was new again to her. Even the lust that was coursing through her was something vaguely familiar, but all new again. Such was her life in these last few weeks, since she had stopped taking O’Deorain’s drugs. 

Ashe finally obliged, just barely, sliding a hand over her and rubbing her through her panties. 

Widowmaker whined her frustrations again.

“Easy now,” Ashe cautioned, continuing her aggravatingly slow assault. “No need to rush.”

Widowmaker bucked her hips, trying her best to explain that there was very much a need, but she was already at a loss for words. 

“I’ll give you what you want, darlin’,” Ashe promised, snapping the waistband of her underwear once, then twice, “but it’s gonna be on my terms.”

Widowmaker found her hips rolling without her control. It was somehow terrifying and elating, not being in full control of herself again. She was giving up everything to escape Talon’s control, yet all she wanted was for this woman to fuck her until she couldn’t remember her name. Funny how that worked, how those decisions ebbed and flowed and compounded on one another. Not that she cared. Not in that moment.

After what seemed like ages, Ashe finally slid two fingers beneath that waistband, exploring there with more tentative touches, then a quick circle or two.

And with them a satisfied chuckle. “Well you’re certainly ready, aren’t you?”  
“Mmm…” Widowmaker tried her best to retort, but Ashe’s fingers got to work before she could find any words. 

Clearly, this was not the first time she’d followed a woman home from a bar. God no. She was exceptionally talented with those fingers. Rough though they were, calloused from whatever it is an outlaw might do--shoot guns, tie ropes, hell, maybe even play guitar--like Ashe herself, they knew when to pull back, when to let the moment speak for itself, and certainly when to drive in hard again.

Widowmaker found herself shaking. She felt like she was on fire. Every nerve ending in her body burst to life anew, welcoming the return of sensation with a strange ecstasy. It was too much, but it was exactly what she needed. 

But Ashe didn’t let her get too lost in it. She made her take her time, find each peak and valley, each scenic view that her own body had to offer. She made her bite her lip and swallow hard, whine desperately, and whimper softly. All the while she kept her steady, with another gentle hand wrapping around her back, holding her to this world.

Eventually, even the lightest touch was all too much. Widowmaker unraveled, shivering out a drawn out climax with a groan that was both grateful and a little afraid. These feelings. Could she live with them now? Could she handle feeling this much?

She wanted to. Yes. She did. That was all that she wanted. 

Above her, Ashe let out a triumphant little laugh. “See now? Good things come to those who wait.”

Widowmaker rolled out an aftershock, asking, “How long?”

Ashe laughed again. “Not near as long as I usually like, but I didn’t want you getting too impatient on me.”

“Your hand,” Widowmaker said, feeling sympathetic. It had felt Ashe had kept it up for ages, though she knew it probably wasn’t long at all. Still. She had to be hurting.

“Is fine, thank you,” Ashe told her. 

Widowmaker shook the last of the fog of euphoria from her mind. Her focus was sharp on something else now. She surprised Ashe as she rolled her over, reversing their positions.

“Hey now…” Ashe warned, gripping her hips with a still damp hand. “I told you there’d be time later.”

“It’s later,” Widowmaker affirmed. 

“I suppose it is,” Ashe relented, lying back. 

Widowmaker went to work, trying her best to get Ashe’s pants off, but her damn outfit was full of too many buckles and straps and pieces of leather she could see no use for. Still, even as Ashe reached up to help, she swept her hands away. She managed to get the chaps undone and cast them aside, along with her belt. Despite her protests, Ashe kicked off her boots then, but at least that left her with just pants. Pants that thankfully had just a normal button fly.

Widowmaker guided Ashe to the edge of the bed as she undid that button, then slid the pants free of her legs. They were as pale as the rest of her, long and smooth. Very easy to get between.

With one hand, she held Ashe’s hips down. With the other, she held onto the edge of the bed as she knelt on the floor. 

“Well now,” Ashe crooned again, but the smoothness of her voice was starting to break up a bit. The rough edge beneath it was just as good, if not better. Widowmaker wanted to hear more of it.

She wanted it now.

So she didn’t waste any time. She quickly kissed a trail down to Ashe’s center, and let her tongue speak for her there. 

There, she didn’t taste like whiskey. Widowmaker almost found herself missing the sweet spirit, but would accept the alternative just as well. What was even better was finally drawing a low moan from Ashe, listening to it claw its way up from her throat. The best though, were the little hitching gasps that followed it, when Widowmaker ran her hands up that crisp white shirt, tracing cool fingers over her abdomen, following a bead of sweat as it pooled near her belly button, then back down to her thighs.

She didn’t take it slow. She didn’t draw this out. No, she needed someone else to fall apart as she had, to show her that this was normal--that it was real. 

She reduced Ashe from sweet words and confident chuckles to a writhing mess in a matter of a few minutes. She relished every break, every unbridled cry. It was human. It was normal. It was a bad decision, but it felt good. 

Ashe came fast and hard, with her fingers knotted in the faded bedspread. She had to push Widowmaker away to get her to stop. 

“I said we got...time…darlin’,” she panted. “But if you keep going like that, I ain’t gonna last all night.”

Widowmaker found that smile again. It was easier to fall into this time. She pressed a kiss against Ashe’s thigh before crawling back up to lay beside her. “I trust you won’t disappoint me like that,” she said.

Ashe’s laugh reverberated into her, shaking her, not so unlike she had done with her skilled fingers only minutes before. “Much better than drinking alone, right?”

Widowmaker answered her with a kiss.


End file.
